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"Jesus, Mick! Why won't you listen to me for once?!"
"Listen to you? Fuck you, Ian. I've been doing everything you want. This is the only time that I denied you and now you're acting like a bitch?" He retorts, nose flaring as he stares at his husband. They have been having this conversation for hours and Mickey is starting to get sick of it. Why can't Ian just accept the fact that he doesn't want to go to the doctor? It's not like he's going to drop dead right away if he doesn't go.
Ian scrubbed his hands on his face. "Mickey. You collapsed at your job earlier. You haven't been feeling good since last week, you get bruises easily and you're fucking pale." When he doesn't respond, Ian sighs and sits on the chair across from him. The rest of the Gallaghers were nowhere in sight since it was just noon and everyone was either at their jobs or school. He reaches for Mickey's tattooed hands and squeezes them, a gesture that Mickey knew well. Listen to me, Mick. "If I were in your position, would you just let me get away with it?"
Fuck, he's making a good point. If there's one thing that Mickey does a good job of, it would be definitely keeping Ian healthy. He is quick to notice when his husband feels under the weather and he never gives up on telling Ian to take his meds even when the latter starts acting like an ass. He would do everything to keep his husband healthy.
So why won't he let Ian do the same with him?
If he's going to be honest, Mickey hasn't been feeling well. He's dizzy all the time, the nausea creeps up every time he overexerts himself, he feels exhausted all the time and he looks like shit. Everything that Ian noticed about him was right. And it's starting to bother him because he's never felt this awful since his teens. But the idea of going to the doctor and getting some help doesn't do good to his nerves. He doesn't like it when people pick and prod at him and certainly, he doesn't appreciate it when people look at him in pity.
And besides, "Milkoviches don't do doctors." He grumbled, eating his words since he knew that Ian would be quick to smash his argument down.
And boy, he’s fucking right. The redhead stared at him, the corner of his lips turning upwards. "Is it just me or did you change your name to Mikhailo Aleksandr Gallagher last month?"
"Fuck you," Mickey grumbled, the tips of his ears turning pink. “And correction, it’s Milkovich-Gallagher, so don’t act too cocky about it.”
There was a beat of silence. Ian and Mickey were just staring at each other, waiting to break the silence. "Look. I know Terry didn't care enough to bring you and your siblings to the doctor whenever you guys get sick but he's gone now. As much as you want to bitch about this, you're my responsibility, Mick. You're my husband and I'll fucking worry and keep convincing your to go to the fucking doctor because I fucking care about you."
If Mickey was prickling with irritation earlier, he sure as hell that irritation was gone now. "You're lucky I like you, Gallagher," was all he said as he watched Ian puffed up with triumph.
“Oh, yeah? Well, you’re lucky that I like to keep everything I love healthy, Gallagher,” Ian teases. His grin turned to a chuckle when Mickey gave him the finger.
After a few minutes, Mickey stood up. He groaned when he was suddenly hit with vertigo. Cursing under his breath, he white-knuckled the corners of the table as he waited for the dizziness to pass. Mickey felt hands holding his arms and he was manhandled until his face was resting against Ian’s shoulder.
“Fuck.”
“How do you feel?”
“Like shit.”
“Do you want to lay down?”
Mickey thinks about it for a bit. Does he really want to wait until god-knows-when to know what’s wrong with him? “Do you think they’d take walk-ins?” He asks with his eyes closed and his breathing a bit labored.
“I don’t think we’d have to wait if we go to urgent care,” Ian mumbles, more to himself than to reply to Mickey. One of his hands was resting on Mickey’s neck, squeezing the area a couple of times until Mickey practically melted against him. “Can you sit here for a bit? I’ll start the car.”
“Mmm. I’m not an invalid, Ian. You don’t have to leave me here either. I can walk.”
“And risk you falling down the front steps? Fuck no.”
“‘S not like I’ll die from a couple of steps.”
Ian felt his heart drop with Mickey’s nonchalance. Fuck his husband for not giving a flying fuck about himself. “Mickey…”
“I’ll sit on the steps and hold on to the railing. Anything just not to make me wait here like a fucking baby,” squinting his eyes open, Mickey stares at Ian. “I’m okay, Ian. Just a lil’ bit dizzy but I’m good. Stop worrying.”
“Can’t say that I’d stop, Mick.”
Mickey rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I’m your husband…” the rest came out as mumbles and Ian didn’t need to strain his ears just to hear what his husband had just said.
Ian and Mickey made a slow walk towards the front door. Carefully, Ian deposited his husband on the top of the steps, adjusting the man so that Mickey would be comfortable in his position. In his experience as an EMT, he knew that anemic people have the tendency to get cramps easily, and Mickey was already feeling awful. He doesn’t need a leg cramp to top everything off.
He looks at his husband for a bit and frowns. Mickey really doesn’t look good. He’s paler than usual, and his breathing is starting to get labored. He couldn’t see it but Ian knows that the brunette had his limbs and waist peppered with bruises–with some being the result of their nightly activities and others from the times that Mickey bumps against the furniture.
When the older man lets out a grumble, a sign that he’s aware that Ian was staring at him, Ian walks quickly to their car and starts it. He half-carries his husband towards the passenger’s side, buckles him in, and kisses his right temple. “You good, Mick?”
“Just bring me to the damn doctor, Ian.”
Ian didn’t need to be told twice.